CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mia sank down on the front step. She’d never imagined this; an empty house. She unzipped the bag and fumbled for her purse and key with numb hands.

She staggered into the hall and collapsed on the floor. For hours, it seemed, she lay half asleep, half dreaming, half hallucinating. Over and over she dreamed she was being swept downstream, and she had to clutch on to overhanging branches that came away in her hands and were swept on with her, further towards the edge. The edge was what? She was too exhausted to care.

Eventually she woke up enough to think of getting out of her wet clothes. She dragged herself upstairs and into the bathroom and ran the shower. The hot water stung her scalp. She closed her eyes in the hot stream, let it flood over her aching body, gradually warming her back to life. When, through habit, she stretched her hand out through the shower curtain it closed on to the soft warmth of a dry towel. Still there then, waiting for her. She wrapped it round her wet hair and went to find some clean dry clothes.

Her bedroom looked just the same. The bed was still made up. She rummaged in her drawer for clean underwear. She found a jumper and old cotton jogging trousers in Laura’s wardrobe. More comfortable than her too tight jeans. Her fingers began to tingle, the warmth running along her veins, like something returning after a long absence.

Downstairs, through the open doorway into the dining room, she could see the answerphone light winking a message. She ignored it, went into the kitchen instead, turned on the light. She found a heel of bread and spread it thickly with butter. Turned on the kettle. Still eating, she wandered into the dining room. A stack of letters had been propped behind the clock. She pulled them out. Several, unopened, addressed to her. She took them back into the kitchen.

The heating was on; Dad couldn’t be away for long. Suddenly ravenous, she put on a pan of water for pasta, settled at the kitchen table and opened the first letter.

It was from Will.

Outside, the dark garden filled up with snow.

Dear Mia,

I don’t know if you’ll get this. Perhaps your dad will post it on to wherever you are. It’s weird not seeing you at school or anything. Becky told me what happened, about the hospital and you running away. Your dad has been here and talked for ages to my mother. I really hope you’re all right. I never meant any of this to happen and I’m really sorry. Mum was so freaked out – but she’s sort of on your side really. She made me write to you, but I don’t know what to say.

I can’t get it into my head about a baby. Mum said I should try to see it from your point of view, but it’s hard when I haven’t even seen you. I could have been prosecuted because you’re only fifteen and it’s against the law. My mother says the child-support agency can make me pay for it when it’s born. What am I supposed to do, Mia? Leave school? Get a job? Mum won’t hear of me leaving school.

I’m just in shock about everything. You must be too.

I got your postcard.

Will.

Her hands were shaking. She re-read it. What did he mean? It was disjointed, a muddle of different feelings. At least he’d written. Was still speaking to her. He’d signed his name, but it didn’t say love or anything.

His mum knew. Everyone knew by now. All of Whitecross. Everyone at school.

Snow fell faster now, a sky full of feathers.

She opened the next letter. She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope and the letter inside had been typed.

Mia –

You are a brave young woman and have made a difficult choice, but at least it was your choice and I support you in that. I don’t know you very well, and I wish I’d made more effort when you started going out with Will. Still, that’s all water under the bridge.

I’ll try and help you with money, because Will is responsible for this too and I don’t want him leaving school or anything stupid like that. Nor should you. I’ve found out about special units for school-girl mums, where you can get on with your education. Get your exams. Get some support. There’s one in Bristol. I’ve spoken to the head teacher already. I think that’s where your mother lives, isn’t it? So this might be a way forward for you. If you receive this letter please get in touch. It can just be between you and me.

Sincerely,

Annie

Will’s mother. Offering money. Help.

The next one was a print-out of an e-mail to Dad.

I have had two strange phone calls, one from a hospital and the other from some very odd-sounding girl. Please ask Mia to get in touch. Phone, letter, e-mail, whatever. Please. Alice

Car tyres crunched over gravel. Mia jumped up, instinctively turned off the light so she could remain hidden. Her whole body was tensed, waiting.

Door slam. Key in lock. Front door swung open. Dad, mouth open, hair dusted white with fine snow, stood on the mat. She knew he’d seen her straightaway, a small figure at the table in the dark kitchen.

Mia hesitated. ‘Dad?’

He walked towards her and grabbed her into his arms.

‘You’re freezing! You’re all wet!’ Mia’s voice came out squashed, crushed against his shoulder.

He hugged her again. Tears on his face, not snowflakes.

It was going to be all right.

They sat quietly together in the kitchen. He didn’t ask any questions. He seemed to know that it was better, for now, to say nothing. To share the moment together. Neither turned the light back on. The darkness was comforting; it softened everything. Through the window they watched the garden gradually transformed by the whiteness of snow. It smoothed over the rough flower beds, the clumps of bare twigged bushes. Rounded the edges of the fence, sculpted the grass and the paths into curves. The black branches of the ash tree blossomed with white furry buds.

‘Magic,’ Dad said. ‘It’s like a kind of magic.’

Mia’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. Deep inside her, the frozen lump of fear and anger and hurt began to thaw.

Just before midnight, Mum’s car slithered into the drive. It had taken her five hours since Dad’s phone call.

Mia had been asleep, but she heard the engine and then the slammed doors and muffled voices as Dad let her in. It had been a long time since she’d heard Mum’s voice in this house. It made her feel funny inside, listening to the voices drifting up. Like an old, old memory – lying in bed as a little girl, and the comforting sound of parents talking. Not the angry, shouting, miserable sort of talking they’d done before Mum left, but from earlier on, when they were still friends.

She strained to hear what exactly was being said, but they must have closed the kitchen door and, not long after, she heard Dad come back upstairs and go into his bedroom, and then Mum must have gone to the bathroom because she heard the sound of water running into the basin. She wondered fleetingly where Mum would sleep. Through the gap in the curtains she could see it had stopped snowing and the sky was clearing. A single star shone in the gap between the clouds.